Silence and passion, joy and peace,
An everlasting wash of air--
Rome's ghost since her decease.

And this might be in the same place:

Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles,
Miles and miles
On the solitary pastures where our sheep
Half-asleep
Tinkle homeward through the twilight--

This is a crimson sunset over dark and distant woods in autumn:

That autumn eve was stilled:
A last remains of sunset dimly burned
O'er the far forests, like a torch-flame turned
By the wind back upon its bearer's hand
In one long flare of crimson; as a brand
The woods beneath lay black. A single eye
From all Verona cared for the soft sky.

And if we desire a sunrise, there is the triumphant beginning of _Pippa
Passes_--a glorious outburst of light, colour and splendour, impassioned
and rushing, the very upsoaring of Apollo's head behind his furious
steeds. It begins with one word, like a single stroke on the gong of
Nature: it continues till the whole of the overarching vault, and the
world below, in vast disclosure, is flooded with an ocean of gold.

Day!
Faster and more fast,
O'er night's brim, day boils at last;
Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim
Where spurting and suppressed it lay.
For not a froth-flake touched the rim
Of yonder gap in the solid gray
Of the eastern cloud, an hour away;
But forth one wavelet, then another, curled.
Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed,
Rose, reddened, and its seething breast
Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world.

This is chiefly of the sky, but the description in that gipsy-hearted
poem, _The Flight of the Duchess_, brings before us, at great length,
league after league of wide-spreading landscape. It is, first, of the
great wild country, cornfield, vineyards, sheep-ranges, open chase, till
we arrive at last at the mountains; and climbing up among their pines,
dip down into a yet vaster and wilder country, a red, drear, burnt-up
plain, over which we are carried for miles:

Till at the last, for a bounding belt,
Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea-shore.

Or we may read the _Grammarian's Funeral_, where we leave the city walls
and climb the peak on whose topmost ledge he is to be buried. As we
ascend the landscape widens; we see it expanding in the verse. Moreover,
with a wonderful